Ghosts of New York Past
by Flynne
Summary: The turtles and Splinter have been transported 100 years into the future through Cody Jones' time window. Future New York is a lot to take in. But when the dust settles and the sun goes down, the big unanswered question is still there: how are they supposed to fit into a time that doesn't belong to them?


_I've been wanting to write from 2k3 Michelangelo's point of view for a while, but I couldn't think of any ideas. So a big thank you to SkitsMix for the prompt and for the extremely helpful beta read! _ :D

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Ghosts of New York Past

_Well, at least __**this **__is familiar,_ Mikey thought, staring at the crumpled, unconscious bodies of the street gang that had nearly turtle-napped him. His brow furrowed a little as he panted for air. He was still breathing hard, worse than he usually did after a fight. The futuristic doohickeywhatsis that the giant robot had slapped on him had given him the strength and ability to fight alongside his family, but now that the threat was gone and the adrenaline was fading, Mikey realized that maybe he wasn't quite back to normal after all.

The five-story fall from the delivery truck into a dumpster - in enhanced gravity, no less - hadn't done him any favors, and his muscles were starting to come alive with a strange, deep, burning ache. Before he could do more than wince, though, the wail of sirens echoed off the surrounding buildings and jolted him back to the here-and-now.

"To the Hover Shell!"

That was Leo, sounding even more dorky than Batman ordering Robin to the Batmobile, but Mikey didn't have the breath to laugh. He bolted after his brothers, bounding up the ramp into the ship. The Hover Shell shook as the pilot gunned the engines. Mikey felt his usually impeccable sense of balance deserting him, and his shell struck the wall with an echoing _clang_ as he lurched against the side of the corridor.

"Whoa!" Don lunged forward, catching him just in time to keep him from sliding to the floor. "Mikey, you okay?"

What Michelangelo _meant_ to say was "Survey says no, bro," but it came out sounding more like "_Hnngh!"_.

"What's wrong with him?" Raph demanded. "That tin can said these enviro-pack things were supposed to help!"

"This _tin can_ was correct." The sarcastic voice broke in from behind, and the deck vibrated under Mikey's feet as the giant robot clomped towards them. "They _do_ help. However, your brother has been in an oxygen-depleted atmosphere for several hours and has just exerted himself in a street brawl. Some muscle cramping from oxygen starvation is to be expected."

"Oh, good," Mikey said through gritted teeth. "As long as it's _expected._" He leaned more heavily into Donatello's arms, struggling to stay on his feet as the muscles in his legs twisted achingly tight.

"Isn't there something else we can do to help him?" Leo asked, putting a restraining palm against Raphael's chest as the red-masked turtle growled at the robot.

"Follow me," came the reply.

Mikey hooked his arm around Don's shoulders for support, but managed to move mostly under his own power as they followed the robot into the circular passenger area. When they reached the bench seat curving along the back of the cabin, however, he all but collapsed onto the cushions and curled into a ball as much as his shell would allow, body rigid and shaking.

"Michelangelo." A clawed hand rested on his shoulder and he heard his father's low, urgent voice in his ear.

"Don't mind me," he said breathlessly. "I'll just be...over here trying to turn into a pretzel."

"Take this," The robot said, reappearing at his side. He plunked a canister on the seat next to him and shoved the attached clear plastic mask into his face. "The oxygen mask is designed for a human, but it should cover your mouth and nose enough for it to be of some benefit. Breathe into that for a while and the cramps should subside."

"Thanks, Threepio," Mikey said, voice muffled behind the plastic.

The robot's optics narrowed. "The name," he said disdainfully, "in case you did not hear me the _first _time, is _Serling._"

Mikey nodded and lifted his hand in a salute. The oxygen flowing from the mask smelled a little tinny and made his nose feel dry, but already his chest didn't hurt quite so much. He waited until Serling turned and disappeared in the direction of the cockpit before glancing at his brothers and asking, "So where did you guys find Mr. Giggles?"

"Actually, he found us," Don said. "You're not going to believe this, but he belongs to…"

The sound of running footsteps interrupted him, and a moment later a teenage boy came pounding into the cabin. His face went from eager to alarmed when he saw Mikey huddled against the seat with the oxygen mask pressed against his face. The boy's hands curled into nervous fists as he approached. "Is Michelangelo okay? Serling didn't tell me he was hurt."

"He's fine," Raph said shortly. Mikey smirked a little behind the clear plastic. Despite Raph's dismissive tone, his brother was sitting a lot closer than he usually did, looming protectively into Mikey's personal space.

"Aren't you supposed to be piloting the Hover Shell?" Don asked.

"Serling can get us home." The boy turned back to Michelangelo. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Yep. Feeling better already," Mikey answered truthfully. His muscles still ached fiercely, but after a few minutes of holding the mask over his face, he could feel them slowly unknotting, and it was easier for him to take a breath. He darted a quick glance at Leo, looking for a cue to tell him how he should react to these people - well, okay, a person and a robot - who had apparently taken them in. He was a little surprised and considerably relieved to see that Leo's body language was mostly unguarded, so he allowed himself to relax against the seat as he turned back to their host. "Okay, Lucy," he said in an atrocious Spanish accent, "you got some 'splainin' to do."

The boy just looked at him in confusion. Leo smiled fondly down at his brother, but it was Don who answered. "Mikey," he said gesturing to the boy with a grand wave of his arm, "meet Cody Jones."

Mikey listened, wide-eyed, as the teen explained who he was and what he had inadvertently done. He didn't interrupt, mostly focusing on breathing and slowly starting to stretch his limbs out again; and looking for traces of Casey and April in Cody's face. He couldn't see a lot of resemblance, but the eerily-familiar green eyes held the same gleam of intelligence April's had, and the reckless teenage enthusiasm was definitely a Jones throwback.

By the time Serling had docked the Hover Shell back at Cody's penthouse, Mikey had had a chance to tell his brothers and Splinter about his misadventures after they had become separated. More importantly, the oxygen and the enviro-pack had done their work. He still felt a little achy from the fall, but the cramps had subsided and he could move freely again.

"Last one in got hatched from a rotten egg!" He leapfrogged over Raphael (narrowly dodging a swat to the back of the head) and ran eagerly ahead to explore their temporary new home.

It wasn't until after darkness fell and Cody finally bid them good night that the four brothers and Splinter finally were able to sit down and fully take stock of their situation. Gathered together in the large living quarters Cody had provided, the five of them sat in a circle to sort out this new set of circumstances that had been thrown at them.

Mikey was the last to join the circle, flopping down to sit cross-legged between Raph and Don. He rested his elbows on his knees and let out a little sigh as he asked, "Okay, so what's the plan?" His gaze tracked between Leo and Splinter, waiting for one of them to speak. "What do we do now?"

"We get ourselves home, that's what we do," Raph said firmly. "We don't belong here."

"Don't worry, Raph - there's no argument here," Don said. "We _will_ try to go home. Cody's already planning to fire up his time window tomorrow to see if he can re-create the event that brought us here."

"Do you think it's possible?" Leo asked.

"Possible, yes. Likely...no," Don admitted reluctantly. "Cody did something that hadn't been done before. And he did it by accident. He's a genius, but he's way out of his depth."

"But you can help him, can't you?" Mikey asked.

Don smiled at him, warmed by the confidence in his brother's voice. "You know I'll give it my best shot. But I've got a lot of catching up to do if I'm going to be useful. The toaster alone is more technologically advanced than my laptop at home."

"Tell me about it." Mikey scowled over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. "Right now the score is Toaster: 1, Mikester: 0, but tomorrow morning there will be a rematch. To the death."

"Maybe you should let me make breakfast," Don said, half amused, half alarmed by Mikey's vow.

"I am sure that you will be able to help Cody with whatever he needs, Donatello," Splinter said. He glanced around at his sons. "As will the rest of you."

"What do you mean by that?" Raph asked.

"I believe that Cody is in need of much more than technological assistance. I am not sure if Casey and April would approve of the life their great-grandson is living."

Raph snorted sullenly. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure yanking people out of their own time and stranding them a hundred years in the future where everyone they know is dead would be enough to warrant grounding a kid for at least a month."

"Hang on a minute, Raph," Leo said slowly. "I think I know what Sensei means. Think about it. Aliens freely roam the streets here, so we wouldn't exactly raise a lot of eyebrows - but how many people have we seen since we came home? I mean...Cody's all alone here. From what we've seen, he just lives here with Serling."

"And did you catch what he told us earlier?" Mikey put in. "He told us we were the closest thing to family he had, and we weren't even _here _until twelve hours ago."

Nobody spoke right away after that. Splinter was looking at them with quiet approval in his eyes, and Mikey suspected that Splinter _had_ noticed the significance of what Cody had said right away – and had simply waited for his four sons to catch on. The familiar little worry wrinkle had appeared in the middle of Don's forehead as he gazed in the direction of Cody's room. Leonardo looked a little sad as he gazed down at his folded hands.

"I guess we owe it to Casey and April to keep an eye on the little twerp," Raphael muttered. His face was a thundercloud, but Mikey could see the deeply troubled look in the amber eyes and he knew Raph wasn't really angry at Cody any more.

Splinter sighed and rose to his feet, resting a hand on Don's shoulder. "Now, my sons, I suggest that we all get some rest. It has been a difficult day, and you will need to wake up early for training."

All the brothers – even Leo, Mikey noticed with private amusement – looked at Splinter in surprise. "Um...training, Sensei?" Mikey glanced uncertainly at the wide room with its sparse furniture and conspicuous lack of equipment and weapons.

"Yes," Splinter answered matter-of-factly. "Our efforts will remain focused on returning home, but I do expect you to keep up your training. I hope you have not forgotten that in a few months you will be tested to see if you will achieve the rank of chunin."

Donny was the first to smile. As he made eye contact with his brothers, the rest of them responded in kind. Mikey felt reassuring warmth curling inside his chest - no matter where (or _when_) they were, Splinter was still Splinter.

"Don't worry, Sensei," Leo said, speaking for them. "We'll keep up our training." He reached up and pulled off his mask, rubbing his eyes with his finger and thumb. "I don't know about the rest of you guys, but I'm pretty beat. I'm going to turn in."

"I'm with you," Don said, rising and giving Leo a hand up. "Raph, Mikey, you guys coming?".

"Yeah, yeah. G'night, Sensei," Raph rolled to his feet - a graceful movement despite his bulk and the limp he was trying to hide from his spill onto the highway earlier that day.

Mikey hopped up and stretched, suppressing a wince as bruises complained. "I'll be there in a bit," he said. "Gonna look around a little." He returned Leo's sleepy wave, then turned to make his way through the darkened living area until he reached the wide hallway that led to Cody's artifact room. The only illumination in the cathedral-sized room came from the wall of windows at the far end. The moon was obscured by tumbled clouds drifting across the sky, but the dim glow of the city lights far below was more than enough for him to navigate by.

Mikey hadn't really had time to look around earlier. Now, he could take his time. Cody had done his research. Or, rather, Mikey mused, April had been thorough in her journaling. The artifacts were organized chronologically, from front to back. It felt like walking through his life.

He avoided looking at the four green (now maskless) mannequin heads on the front table and started making his way around the room. It was surreal, seeing fragments of his life hung on the wall or locked in display cases. A TCRI canister sat on a pedestal opposite an Utrom exosuit. The deeply shadowed eye sockets and empty abdominal cavity gaped at him in the dim light. A tattered banner with burned and curled edges hung on the wall, the blood red Foot insignia just barely visible in the dark. Heavy support struts held up the battered, one-legged Foot mech that towered over him.

The clouds scudding across the moon parted, sending a bright beam slanting through the windows. The pearl-colored light glinted off the razor points of a suit of the Shredder's battle armor and flung a sharp black shadow across the long room. The helmet's silhouette stretched all the way to where Michelangelo stood, obscuring his feet in darkness. Mikey stopped in his tracks and swallowed hard. He had to force himself not to step backwards. Instead, he lifted his eyes and gazed at the hollow shell of his family's deadliest enemy.

There were precious few things in the world - heck, in the known universe - that truly frightened him and his brothers, but the Shredder was one of them. Even though Mikey knew that the alien war criminal was long gone, the sight of the armor sent a spear of ice lancing down his spine. He took a deep breath to slow his suddenly racing heart.

"Makes you wonder where the kid got that thing, don't it?"

The deep rumble of Raphael's voice broke the utter silence without warning, and Mikey's undignified and decidedly girly scream was stifled as his brother's hand clamped firmly but not ungently over his mouth. Mikey blew a raspberry against Raph's palm, wringing a disgusted "Gah!" out of the red-masked turtle and earning himself a sharp smack to the back of the head.

"Hey!" Mikey complained, rubbing his head.

Raph just jostled him a bit with his shoulder as he walked past. One side of Mikey's mouth lifted in a half-smile. He took the silent invitation and followed Raph as the larger turtle paced over to the wall of windows at the far end of the room. Mikey leaned his forehead against the cool glass, staring down toward the street far below. He couldn't see the pavement, but a layered, crisscrossing grid of moving lights streamed through his vision as hovercars traveled unerringly straight paths through the air.

Beside him, Raphael let out a long, slow sigh. "It doesn't even look like our city any more," he said softly.

Mikey didn't answer. Raph was right. No trace of the familiar skyline remained. He wasn't even sure where in New York they were. Mikey was used to being able to figure his his location in the city down to within a few city blocks no matter where he might be, and Raph had an even more intimate knowledge of the streets. It was disorienting to know he was in his hometown and not recognize a single building.

Long, slow moments passed. The tumbled clouds drifted over the moon in the night wind, mottling the room in patches of light and shadow. Mikey turned to lean his shoulder against the window, gazing back over the silhouettes of the gathered artifacts.

"It makes me feel weird," he said finally. "Seeing all our stuff here. It's like a museum about us."

"It's like we're dead," Raph said harshly. "Everyone we know is dead. Seein' all this stuff here...our stuff, Casey's mask...it makes me feel like a ghost."

"Gee, Raph, that's not creepy at all," Mike said, rolling his eyes.

"I wonder if we'd even be around in a hundred years," Raph said. His voice was quieter than Mikey had ever heard it, and he wondered if his bigger brother knew he was even speaking out loud. "Or if it would even matter."

Michelangelo watched Raphael's profile for a few minutes. His face was dark and brooding, holding an expression that Mikey knew was familiar but couldn't quite place. But then after a moment, Mikey remembered: he had seen this look after Splinter had been taken by the Utrom, after Leo had been beaten to within an inch of his life by the Foot, after they had nearly given their lives to stop the Shredder from leaving the planet, when they were afraid they would lose Don to Bishop's mutation virus - and he realized with a jolt that Raph was _grieving_.

Raph was grieving the life from which they'd been taken. He was grieving the friends who were suddenly lost to them. For Raphael, it was no comfort to know that their friends were alive and well somewhere in the past. Here and now, Casey and April were dead, and there were no guarantees the turtles would ever see them again.

Here and now, standing in a room full of old junk and scraps of memories, surrounded by a gleaming city they no longer recognized, his family were a bunch of walking anachronisms; echoes of a past that didn't belong. It was a sharp, lonely feeling. Mikey hadn't felt so far from home since Renet had stranded them all in the Cretaceous period.

Mikey sighed, moving over to stand next to Raph. "Donny'll get us home," he said quietly. "You know he will."

"You can't know that."

"Yeah, I do," Mikey insisted. "Because it's _Donny_."

Raph's expression softened just a bit. It wasn't a smile. But it was enough. "Yeah," he said quietly.

"You know," Mikey ventured, tilting his head back towards the collection of artifacts that filled the room, "It's...it's kinda nice to know we'll be remembered."

Raph closed his eyes. For several heartbeats, he didn't move. He hardly breathed. But then he reached out and rested his heavy hand on Mikey's head. Although the brothers never really talked about it much, for most of their lives, they had carried the assumption that whenever they left the world, that would be it. They had only each other. There would be no descendants, no one to pass on their stories.

Michelangelo knew that, for the most part, that knowledge didn't bother them. The core of their identities and the foundation for their souls were each other and their father. That was enough for them.

Things _had _changed over the past few years, though - they had met several people who they trusted, who were friends - who, like Casey and April, had become family. And if the shadowy, haunting fear of being forgotten hadn't completely disappeared, it had at least shrunk to the point of being insignificant. True, Mikey's family would spend their lives defending a world that didn't know about them and would fear them if it did, but their friends knew them. Their family knew them. Maybe nobody else ever would, but that didn't matter.

Now, though, no matter how much they missed their home, their friends, their own time…

...it was nice to learn that they would be remembered after all.

"Come on," Raph said, finally breaking the silence. "Time for some shut-eye."

Mikey smirked. "Yeah, I can tell you've been neglecting your beauty sleep."

Raph huffed a laugh. The hand on Mikey's head gave a little shove as Raph turned to walk away. Mikey jogged a couple steps to catch up, grinning up at his brother. "There's at least one good thing about the future, though," he said. "Did you see Cody's gaming system? It's like you're _in_ the game! And," he added, smile turning a little sly, "you can set it up so two players can battle each other. Time travel has given me yet another way to kick your shell."

Raph had dragged his little brother into a headlock so many times over the years that Mike could sense the telltale shift in his posture that let him know it was coming - but he didn't duck away. He just let out an indignant squawk as Raph slung an arm around his neck and started hauling him along towards the sleeping quarters.

"Heh. You can _try_," Raph said.

"Do or do not!" Mikey replied in his best imitation of Yoda. "There is no try!" He tugged at the thick forearm around his neck and gave Raph's thumb a little twist, which gave him enough leeway to wiggle free. "And, when it comes to kicking your shell, Raphie-boy, I _do_," he finished triumphantly.

Raph growled and took a swipe at him, which Mikey laughingly dodged. He darted down the darkened hall, hearing his brother chasing after him. The little burst of warmth that the reassurance of Splinter's presence had kindled in his chest flared and brightened as he heard Raphael start to laugh. They were stranded in a strange new world, but they were together. And as long as they were together, Michelangelo thought, they were home.


End file.
